Love Advice from a Psychopath
by Delicious Mud Pie
Summary: This is pretty dirty. It's a selfinsertion thing, where I get to meet Brock! And Tracey dies! A good reason why stupidity should be an available genre!


Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon. I don't own Santana, or La Migra. I also don't own the goo Goo Dolls or Black Balloon, sadly. But I own Mystery Squeezit, who is me. And Brock. Just because I can draw him. But I can draw Misty too, so, eh. Um, I'm not much for self-insertion but this is just a silly thing so don't take it seriously. I have a boyfriend in rl so I'll leave Brock to the public servants. Later.  
  
  


Love Advice from a Psychopath  


  
Migra migra, pinche migra, Mystery Squeezit sang as she hopped down a street on one foot, déjame en pas!  
  
She kept hopping and hopping and hopping until she was sick of singing the first verse to the Migra song because she didn't know the rest.   
  
Her hopping ceased, however, when she saw a guy sitting on a bench in a nearby park. He had his head in his hands, and he looked rather dejected.  
  
Squeezit winked at him, walking up to him.   
  
He looked up at her, then looked back down. Nothin'. Just a little depressed, is all.  
  
Squeezit pouted. What's got a hot guy like you so down?  
  
He blinked a little bit at this statement. Um, well, um, I just got turned down by a girl. She was beautiful. Nice, too. She just didn't like me.  
  
Squeezit laughed. You should play hard to get. If you called her a bitch and then ignored her she'd probably be all over your ass.  
  
Brock looked up at the girl, puzzled. She'd probably just slap me harder!  
  
No way, Squeezit laughed. She'd be totally intrigued, trust me. She'd be all, Dude, guys usually think I make the sun look like a cooler, is this guy gay? I must know.' The she'd pursue you like a pit bull to a hairy man's ankle.  
  
Um, I dunno if I could do that, Brock admitted. I get all tongue tied and can't do anything but tell girls how gorgeous I think they are and that I love them.  
  
Squeezit shook her head. You come on too strong. Girls want someone who will be a pig-headed ass wipe. Don't ask me why. That's just how it is.  
  
*Squeezit's boyfriend, whom we shall call Bulbasaur32, comes out through a thicket of trees and whacks Squeezit over the head with a bowling pin. The bowling pin shatters against the sheer density of Squeezit's head, and she rubs the spot gingerly.*  
  
I wasn't talking about you asswipe! Squeezit grumbled at Bulbasaur32 as he ran back into the woods. Damn. _He_ was all over me though, I just happen to like that sort of thing in a man. But, relationships aren't all they're cracked up to be, dude. I mean, when we first started going out, we would talk and talk and talk, and now after a couple of years we try and pin each other down to fart on each other for fun. Sure, it's fun, but it's just not the same.  
  
Brock suddenly blanched, then began to shake nervously. Um, ah, I gotta go now. Good luck with, ah, the farting.  
  
I'm not through with you yet, Squeezit said maniacally, and pulled Brock down onto the bench. Now, you don't know me, but I know you and--  
  
Who are you? Brock asked, suddenly thinking he recognized her.  
  
Mystery Squeezit, Squeezit beamed proudly. But you can call me Vern. Just cause I like ya.  
  
Mystery Squeezit? Brock snorted. Well, stop writing all those stupid stories about me.  
  
Squeezit frowned. You don't really like Misty?  
  
Well, duh I do, he shook his head, but Ash would kick me in the balls if he found out. Besides, in a couple of years the whole statutory rape issue will come up, and it'll just be wrong. It just won't work. During those years when Misty will be older than Ash it'll be okay because the judge will probably cheer when he hears about him getting laid by an older woman.   
  
How old are you? Squeezit asked. I always just assign you some stupid age in my stories.  
  
I dunno, he shrugged. I've had so many different ages I'm not so sure anymore.  
  
Squeezit looked at the ground. Wanna go TP someone's house?  
  
Brock perked up. Can we TP Ash's house? His mom trips me out, man. I mean, what kind of a dumbass keeps a Mr. Mime? They're like creepy little midget quasi-humans and their powers are stupid anyway.  
  
I couldn't agree more, Squeezit shrugged, then took his hand. Hey! I'll drive.  
  
You'd have to, Brock shrugged. But I dunno if I wanna get in the car with a stranger.  
  
It's my story so you have to.  
  
Can't disagree with that.  
  
So, the deranged author and her little animated toy piled into her phat ass Dodge Ram. Brock noticed the hippie van and Buttercup bumper stickers on the back, but played it safe and didn't ask about them.  
  
You know, it's only 1:40 pm. Won't his mom notice? Brock asked.  
  
Don't be a wet blanket, Squeezit suggested, then started swerving on the road to the music she was listening to.   
  
Baby's black balloon makes her flyyyyyy, she started singing with her CD. Brock grabbed on to the dashboard, digging his fingernails into it and praying that he would live through this excursion.  
  
Don't worry about it, Squeezit laughed. Back home I'd croak off for doing this, but no one ever drives on these roads except for Jessie and James, and I could friggin' brawl with their dumbass van in this car.  
  
Brock didn't relax any. I wanna get my first kiss before I die!  
  
Squeezit's eyes widened. I could arrange that!  
  
Brock shouted. Hell no!  
  
You like every other girl on the planet, she pouted. Why not me?  
  
You're crazy, for one, Brock grumbled, and two, I saw your boyfriend. He was pretty buff. I was taller, but, um, he's about four years older than me.  
  
Squeezit smiled. So you do know you're age! You know I've always had a thing for younger men.  
  
Brock began to sweat. Look! You don't wanna cheat on your boyfriend, do you?  
  
Hell no, Squeezit shook her head. I'm just tryin' to trip you out.  
  
Brock sighed in relief.   
  
But I'm still insulted, Squeezit frowned. Anyway--back to the love advice. Chicks like it if ya think you're the major shit. I mean, I knew this guy who looked like the terrain of The Pizza Book (read it if you don't get it), and he had greasy hair, bad breath, scrawny--he repulsed me utterly. But he went out with like six of my friends and lost his virginity like in the second grade. You have at least six legs up on this guy, but fart breath was a chick magnet because he didn't see himself as the revolting sack of scum he was, and he didn't even need to bathe to get dates because they flocked to his repulsive self-confidence.  
  
Then why didn't you like him? Brock snorted.  
  
Squeezit shrugged. I see through that kind of crap. I'm very picky.  
  
Somehow I don't quite believe you, Brock groaned, wondering when this hellride would be over and he could escape.   
  
Obviously this won't be your strategy, she sighed. Okay. Maybe you could try something else. Um, you wouldn't be willing to do something totally illegal, would you?  
  
Brock shouted.  
  
Well then, um, she sighed, let's get back to Misty. Look--Ash isn't putting the moves on her. If you dig her, beat his scrawny ass to the punch. You're way cuter than Ash anyway. Especially in boxers. I'm no Tracey Sketchit, but that pic I drew of you in your boxers, hoo boy--  
  
Brock's eyes widened. For one thing, don't mention Tracey! For another, are you some kind of a sick stalker?  
  
Fanfic writer, fanart creator, stalker, she shrugged, same difference.  
  
Look out! Brock shouted, as someone was walking down the middle of the street.   
  
Don't worry about it, Squeezit smiled as the person in front of her suddenly screamed like a cat in heat and her windshield was suddenly covered in blood. Damnit, now I'll have to go to the car wash.  
  
Brock suddenly paled and pressed his face against the side window while Squeezit turned on her windshield wipers. What did you do that for!  
  
Calm down, Squeezit laughed. It was just Tracey. You know, I mentioned him. It's called the as if on cue' factor. He's like Kenny. Everyone kills him. He'll be back to die again before you know it.  
  
Brock suddenly relaxed immensely. Whoa! Thanks! I've been trying to get rid of that little pubic lice for months now! I'm sick of hearing him gush over Oak every time Ash gets on the vidphone!  
  
Squeezit smiled, glad that he didn't hate her anymore. It was strange how death always brought people together in fanfics. Death and angst is like fanfic glue.  
  
Squeezit's cellphone suddenly began to ring.  
  
she responded, answering it. She had to hold it away from her ear quickly because of the loud noises in the background. Who is this?  
  
It's Oak! the man on the receiving end shouted, and Squeezit still had to hold the phone away from her ear. We're throwing a huge party at Ash's mom's house! Wanna come?  
  
Brock nodded, smiling. Party! There might be chicks there!  
  
Misty will be there, Squeezit winked. I'll make sure of it. Maybe Ash will be in the closet. Eh? Eh?  
  
Can't do it, Brock affirmed. Just can't do it.  
  
Suuure you can, Squeezit coerced. It's a keg party. She'll be looser than Monica Lewinsky's tonsils.  
  
I can't, Brock sighed.  
  
Suit yourself, Squeezit shrugged. I'm gonna make sure my boyfriend is liquored up real good. Maybe I'll throw in one of my Nurse-in-Training Joys for ya. They're young, and this one'll be boozed out!  
  
Brock considered this. Sounds good!  
  
Squeezit turned back to the phone. We were on our way there already! We'll bring the TP and eggs, okay?  
  
Oak shouted. Peace out!  
  
Squeezit hung up.  
  
And so ends our tale, our heroes are about to possibly get some booty, and Tracey has died at the hands of Mystery Squeezit's Dodge Ram. Could an ending possibly be any more perfect?  
  
******Why the hell am I doing an author's note? This piece of crap was all one big author's note. I know this sucked but I had to get it out of my system. 


End file.
